


Sweet

by fannishliss



Series: Kink List [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Licking, M/M, Scents & Smells, Sparring, Sweat, future Steve and Bucky, my kink list series, they are happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3563540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky likes it when Steve is sweaty.<br/>Sparring leads to sexytimes.  :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Kink list - Bodily secretions: ie, Steve is sweaty and Bucky likes it. Also the smells of Steve are important to Bucky.

Drones were everywhere, crawling, flying — Steve was taking point, bringing them down with the shield, while Bucky tried to even the odds with a grenade launcher.

Steve was moving fast, completely in the flow. His shield was like a extension of his body — Bucky had almost gotten to the point where he could see like Steve saw — how Steve’s arm and gaze and the attitude of his body played the shield over the battlefield like a yoyo on a string. It was gorgeous, a ballet with pyrotechnics added by Bucky — drones exploding in a ring around Steve, a half-sphere where Bucky defined which ones Steve would get to take out and which ones he would take out first.

To be honest, he longed to be in there, closer, back to back with Steve in that deadly dance. Sparring with Steve, in the gym, on the mat, hand to hand — the way it was always meant to be — Steve’s determination and his iron will finally mirrored by his immaculate physique; Bucky’s oath to protect Steve forever made visible by the way he never pushed Steve any less than to his every limit.

Natasha stood like a goddess of war, surveying the action with a critical eye, seeing every mistake, every time one of the drones came too close. Bucky could remember the girl she’d been — only dimly — they’d kept him locked down pretty hard with the wipes in those days — but he remembered how hard he’d trained her, determined that she would survive, that maybe, somehow, she would be free — he had seen in her eyes, not just the will to survive, but the will to be someone, more than a mere weapon.

“Hold!” Natasha called. The drones froze, some of them hovering.

Steve caught the shield as it sprang back from the last drone, and rolled smoothly to his feet.

“99%,” Natasha said. “Acceptable.”

Steve nodded, rolling his shoulders. “What’s the one percent?” he asked. “Did we miss one?”

Natasha turned her head, raised her arm, and fired her weapon. Behind Bucky, a low crawling drone, camouflaged against the ground, fell over with a whir and a flare of sparks.

“I would have caught that,” Bucky said.

“No,” Natasha said flatly. She was in Black Widow mode, every softness pared away. “You have only one flaw, _uchitel_ , a flaw in your most basic programming. You will always protect Steve at your own expense.”

Bucky frowned, but he couldn’t deny it.

“Lucky we have you then,” Steve said with a smile at Natasha. “Bucky watches my back, you watch his…”

“Everybody watches their own backs,” Natasha insisted, unsmiling. “There is no place for sentiment in the field. If that drone struck Barnes, you would have both been compromised and the fight would have been over.”

“I had em on the ropes,” Steve complained, half-heartedly, knowing he was wrong.

“Hit the showers,” Natasha said. “99 is not so bad. But you can do better.”

She stalked out, and Bucky and Steve admired the view as she went.

“Damn, what a woman,” Bucky said.

“Clint is a lucky man,” Steve said, shaking his head.

“So are we all, Steve,” Bucky said. “Lucky she’s on our team.” He remembered, just flashes, the beautiful girl Natasha had been, the ferocity in her eyes as they fought through their deadly tarantella in the Red Room. She’d come to know him then, the bits and pieces the wipes couldn’t ever fully erase — she’d come to respect and to trust him, even though such ideas were for children. She still had enough of the child in her, still hoping, still capable of compassion, that when she got out, she’d been the assassin Clint chose to save.

“Lucky to call her friend,” Steve agreed, gripping Bucky by his good shoulder.

Bucky looked up, and Steve met his eye. In a heartbeat, the moment heated up.

“Sure you don’t wanna go straight back to our rooms?” Bucky said under his breath, examining the tips of his metal fingers.

“You’re the devil,” Steve responded, with a blush, but he headed for the elevator.

It took less than a minute to get to their floor, but Bucky couldn’t wait. The elevator doors slid closed, the car rose, and the doors opened, and Bucky was already up against Steve, pressed against him so that he almost fell when the doors opened, depositing them in their rooms.

“Jarvis, scan for surveillance,” Steve requested. Bucky politely lay off his lips while he tried to speak, pressing his own mouth wherever he could find bare skin.

“Clear, as always, Captain,” Jarvis confirmed.

“Thanks!” Steve replied.

Quite enough of that, Bucky thought, and got his mouth back on Steve, as he dropped his tac gear all over the entryway.

“Sergeant Barnes, you are dropping loaded weapons,” Jarvis admonished.

“Bucky,” Steve whined, and Bucky stood back, panting. He ripped off his gear, gingerly laying the weapons to the side, attacked his boots and broke both shoestrings, while somehow, Steve calmly unzipped his suit and was naked in less than thirty seconds.

“One gun,” Steve smirked, “unloaded,” he said, gesturing at his sidearm, which he almost never even touched.

“Jarvis, lockdown,” Bucky ordered through clenched teeth.

“Affirmative, sir,” Jarvis said, somehow sounding long-suffering.

“I’ll get to them later!” Bucky said, to appease Steve.

Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled. He liked that he made Bucky desperate.

Steve was naked and sweaty, and Bucky was finally naked too, and that was the best thing in the world.

Bucky dragged Steve to their bedroom by one hand, Steve laughing and stumbling and generally spoiled rotten.

Bucky pushed him back onto the bed, and Steve flopped back, smiling broadly at the ceiling, and Bucky pounced on top of him.

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” Bucky chanted. “Oh Stevie, look at you,” Bucky said.

“Take a picture,” Steve laughed, eyes sparkling.

“No picture could do you justice, Stevie,” Bucky moaned. “When you’re like this — hot from action, glowing, slick with sweat. God damn, I’m telling you.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed together as he laughed and frowned all at once. “Such a jerk, we should just make out in the shower…”

“No!” Bucky said. “No, no, no, no. You’re not washing all this away till I’m through with you. Om nom nom, nom nom.” Bucky made yummy noises as he licked from Steve’s belly up the center of his chest.

Steve just laughed and lay there, relaxed and happy, while Bucky licked him and stuck his nose here and there and all around on Steve. Armpits, balls, Bucky loved how Steve smelled.

Steve’s sweat was a thing for Bucky, which Steve, in his mercy and with grace, tolerated.

It was a before thing, a HYDRA thing, a serum thing, a thing about now, and joy and life and loving Steve, every little bit of Steve, imprinting Steve way back, so far down that he’d never forget.

Bucky remembered, so clearly, Steve tucked against him, in the old skinny days, when they slept together sometimes for warmth. How little Stevie would come to him, fierce and shivering and angry, and by the next morning, he’d be warm and relaxed and soaked in sweat, heated up like a pie from lying in Bucky’s arms all night. Those were some of the sweetest moments Bucky could ever remember, waking up with Steve’s damp head tucked under his chin, warm and safe because Bucky had made him that way. He remembered the thin blue light of dawn, the early morning pigeons and the few songbirds of winter, and watching Steve sleep, soft and easy, and his, all Bucky’s until the day began and Steve’s fight with the world started up over again.

Bucky remembered: the stench of a HYDRA base — the stench of fear, blood, piss, and disinfectant, the fucking government disinfectant they used when they hosed him down, the very same shit they mopped out of buckets onto the floor.

Bucky, now, could stick his nose just behind Steve’s ear and smell all kinds of things — what he’d eaten, when he’d washed up, where he’d been, how he was feeling, how long he’d been awake, how much he wanted Bucky and how good it would be for them to fuck, right then and there. It was a serum thing, all the things his nose could tell him — the things his tongue could tell him when he licked Steve all over, and so Steve allowed it, and sometimes (more rarely) returned the favor.

The smell of Steve hadn’t changed that much — the serum had perfected Steve’s body, undid his colorblindness, deafness and anemia, healed his stomach ulcers and the weakness in his heart from rheumatic fever, disarmed his allergies and overly reactive lungs — but Steve was essentially the same, just a bigger, stronger, healthier version of the same kid who’d always smelled so good — fresh or ripe, it made no difference to Bucky.

Breathing Steve in, tasting him on his tongue, filling the oldest and deepest parts of his brain with Steve in a way no wipe could ever erase — it mattered to Bucky, so much.

He remembered the day he’d come home to Steve, the way Steve had gathered him in, weeping on his neck, and as crazy and lost as he’d been in that moment, Steve had smelled right to him — home, love, Stevie. That moment was the biggest step forward in his recovery.

Bucky nuzzled Steve’s balls with his nose, licked a little, feeling them roll around in their pouch. Steve’s dick was ready, so ready for his mouth. Bucky licked up, kissing along the length, sucking at it, tempting his lips with the silky smooth skin, rolling his tongue around the head, taking him in.

The taste of Steve filled his mouth, delicious.

The smell of Steve around him filled his consciousness.

Steve’s skin, slick with sweat, slid under his hands like a dream, and Steve’s salt was on the back of his tongue as Bucky sucked Steve down.

Steve was everything, everywhere, the best, the only thing in Bucky's world.

**Author's Note:**

> Uchitel is Russian for teacher. I got this idea from someone here on AO3. Imitation is a sincere form of flattery I hope!
> 
>  
> 
> I know this one veers wildly from one thing to another. Please let me know what you thought?


End file.
